


Like Roots

by honeybeezz



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: (attempted), (if you consider a high-stakes mushroom hunt adventure), Adventure, Character Study, Cooking, Dogs, Gen, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Threats of Violence, and (as always), gratuitous references to northern italy, mycology, what more do you need!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25681453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybeezz/pseuds/honeybeezz
Summary: “You’d think that for how many times I’ve fallen on the ground I would have found a mushroom by now.”Joe & Nicky take Nile truffle hunting.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nile Freeman & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova
Comments: 13
Kudos: 144





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really can’t stress how much this is a niche fic by me, for me. 
> 
> Takes place shortly after the movie, before Booker & Quynh meet up.
> 
> Translations of my (verrry rusty) Italian in the endnotes!

_Our hands imbibe like roots,_

_so I place them on what is beautiful in this world._

Saint Francis of Assisi 

How much fuuuuurther?” Nile strung out the last word of her sentence for maximum effect, breathless as she thrashed against a wild rose bush. 

When Joe had proposed taking Nile truffle hunting, he had set it up like a fun little adventure. He failed to mention how much climbing, wading, hacking, and falling was involved. Halfway through the morning, Nile’s camouflage might as well have been a regular black jacket for how covered in dirt and leaves it was. 

Joe and Nicky turned back down the hill. 

“It’s not a question of how much further, it’s a question of how much deeper.” Nicky came over and pulled the rose bush aside with one gloved hand. Nile huffed. 

Joe laughed and winked at Nicky. “È una vita da cani. Poor Nile.” 

Nicky returned the laugh. “Molto male.” 

Joe stood on top of an old log and spread his hands out like he was a traveling preacher. “Truffles require patience and fortitude, Nile. We have a perilous journey ahead of us,” he wiggled his fingers, “but the reward is _well worth it!_ ” 

Nile rolled her eyes and finally pulled her pant leg free of the thorns, promptly falling on the ground with a thud. Bea, the friendly dog they had borrowed from one of Nicky’s truffle contacts, came bounding down the hill. As she skidded up to them she wagged her tail and licked Nile’s face, knocking her over again in her enthusiasm. Bea’s curls were covered in dirt and fell over her eyes in ringlets. Nile thought that she almost looked like a truffle herself. 

“Bea! No, basta!” Nicky put his hands on his hips like an angry mother, but Bea’s exuberance wore away his resolve. “Vieni qui!” The dog came running to him and, blessedly, away from Nile’s face, which was now squarely in the dirt. Joe offered her a hand and she (grudgingly) took it. 

Bea approached her again, contrite, and Nile patted her head. She was quickly learning that all was forgiven in love and truffle hunting. 

They moved on from the once-promising rose bush and resumed their climb up the hill. Nile had kept up a steady stream of whining as payback for her ruined clothes, but she gave them a break as they climbed. Just as they reached the top of the hill, she sensed her opportunity. As Joe leaned over to whisper something to Nicky that made him blush and laugh, she climbed on top of a log like Joe had earlier and looked down at the two of them. 

“Are we there yet?” 

* * *

A few days previous, Nile had been listening to a podcast while she cooked in an attempt to heat up their drafty safehouse. She was trying to demonstrate to Nicky the proper way to make American macaroni and cheese. 

“No, it’s not like the packaged kind at all. That’s just convenience food. With real American mac & cheese, you’ve gotta make the sauce from scratch while the noodles cook. My mom always used to add cottage cheese to hers. It’s our secret family recipe.” 

Nicky looked scandalized. “ _Cottage cheese?!_ ” 

Joe glanced up from his spot on the couch. “It’s a good thing Booker’s not here. He’d freak out if he heard you talking about adding cottage cheese to a béchamel sauce.” 

She winced a little bit at the mention of Booker, but her indignation let her recover quickly enough. “Don’t be pretentious, it’s fucking mac & cheese. You want to learn to make it the American way? This is how we do it.” 

Nicky shrugged and added the cottage cheese to the milk and flour in the pan. He made eye contact with Joe across the room and gave a long-suffering sigh. 

Joe joined them in the kitchen and placed his hands on Nicky’s shoulders. “Americans,” he murmured. Nicky smiled without looking up. 

Nile didn’t dignify that with a response. “Joe, if you’re gonna take up space in the kitchen, be useful and go drain that pasta.” 

Joe let go of Nicky and bowed as he walked towards the sink. “Oui, chef.” 

The podcast host launched into a monologue about something an audience member was eating. 

“ _So what is it you have here, mac and cheese?”_

The response was inaudible. 

_“Oh, truffle mac and cheese?! What, did you pay four dollars extra to make it taste worse? Truffle oil is vile…”_

Nicky’s head perked up. “Truffle oil is not _vile_!” 

Nile stepped around Nicky to add the grated cheddar to the sauce. “It is if you put it on mac and cheese.” 

Joe regarded them from the sink. “Americans just have no restraint.” 

“Nile, have you ever had fresh truffles before?”

“I can’t say I have. It’s always been a little far out of my price range.” 

Joe stepped back to the stove with the drained noodles. “Well, what’s the point of being immortal and in Italy if you can’t experience a white truffle? It’s nothing like truffle oil on mac & cheese, I’ll tell you that much.” 

Nile turned her head towards Joe. “Are you saying you have a way to get them?” 

“No, but I am saying I have a way to find them.” 

Nicky was practically vibrating with excitement all of the sudden. “Nile, are you perhaps free this Saturday?” 

* * *

Nile was free on Saturday, as it turned out. The three of them had left from their safehouse in Bologna early that morning, donning their camouflage jackets and piling into Nicky’s beat up Metris. Daniele, Bea’s secretive owner, met them at the base of an unkempt hiking trail in the foothills outside of town. Nile shivered and sipped her coffee, standing at a distance while Daniele and Nicky negotiated prices. 

Joe filled her in. “Daniele’s kind of a rough character, but he’s the best trainer around for truffle dogs. And he’s super nosy and weird, so he always knows when other truffle hunters are around.” 

“Is it, like, a competitive thing?” 

“Extremely. There are truffle hunters who’ve threatened to shoot people for coming onto their turf.” 

“Jesus. How much do these things go for, anyway?” 

“Daniele’s contact sells them wholesale for €2,500/kg, but you can sell them at a restaurant or a market for €6,000.” 

“Joe! That’s crazy! Will we get in trouble for hunting them here?” 

He shrugged, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be secretly looking for a fungus in the foothills of Bologna at 7 in the morning. “It's not illegal. It’s fun, and it’s something to do. Besides, if you’ve never seen a white truffle in the wild, it truly is a once in a lifetime experience. Even if you _can_ live forever.” 

Nile eyed the sharp elevation gain along the path. “It better be.” 

Nicky approached them, holding Bea’s leash in one hand. Bea pulled Nicky along, wagging her tail as she greeted them. 

“Joe, Nile, this is Bea. She’s a four year old Lagotto Romagnolo. Daniele assures me she’s one of the best.” 

“She is not one of the best, she _is_ the best.” Daniele did not come closer, but the shadow of a smile crossed his face. 

Nicky turned around and said something in Italian that almost made Daniele laugh.

Joe leaned in and translated in a whisper: “Nicky said she better be for the arm and a leg that she costs. Looks can only get her so far.” 

Daniele turned back to his car, and his smile fell. “Be cautious. Federico tells me that there are other hunters out today. There have been very few truffles this year. Go with care.” He turned and waved them off gruffly. 

“Andiamo!” Nicky released Bea’s leash, and the four of them set off into the woods. 

* * *

Four hours later, Nile was sweaty, dirty, and fed up with the whole business. After her fall in the rose bush earlier that morning, she had been carefully picking through the leaves and brambles, but it was slow going. Her legs ached from the constant up and down climbing, and her coffee was long gone. She was covered in mud up to mid-calf. A small headache had made itself known at the base of her skull, and she continuously rubbed at her neck. But if Nile’s mood was putting a damper on Joe and Nicky, they didn’t show it. 

“Joe, come look at this!” Nicky was standing off to the side of a holm oak, pointing to a small, green chrysalis on the bottom side of a brown leaf. 

“Wow, Nicky, that’s beautiful.” Nile noticed that Joe was looking right at Nicky as he said it. “What type of butterfly do you think it will become?” 

“I’m not sure, but it could be a Cleopatra butterfly. It is a little too early in the winter to tell.” 

Nile glanced up at the big tree they were sheltering under, tracing the valley of its bark all the way up to the branches. She had thought a lot about trees since she first died. Was there a tree in this world that was as old as Nicky and Joe? As Andy? She wondered what it was like to live for such a long time. To love for such a long time. Perhaps, if she was very lucky, she would someday know. Maybe the tree would tell her, if it could speak. 

The tree reminded her of _The Giving Tree._ Her mom and dad used to read her and her brother that book sometimes, and it always made her unspeakably sad. “ _And the boy loved the tree very much, and the tree was happy.”_ Their group often reminded her of that tree, even though it felt childish to say it. They had lived for so long, had seen so much, and yet they still gave and gave of themselves. Until there was nothing left. Like Lykon and Quynh and Booker. Like Andy. Is that what she would become someday? A stump for others to rest upon? Would that be enough for her, when that day arrived? 

* * *

Joe’s laughter startled Nile out of her rumination. Nicky was spinning him around the tree, their hands clasped together, leading the way. It was almost like they were being pulled by an invisible string around the tree’s big roots. 

Nile laughed with them. She often found their joy to be infectious, and today was no exception. She raised her hands to her mouth and shouted for the dog. “Bea! Vieni qui!” 

Nicky applauded her pronunciation, and Nile preened a little bit. 

The dog came bounding up to them, a small, very dead mouse held in her mouth. 

Nile screamed and jumped backwards. 

Joe gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder and stepped forward, offering his gloved palm out to Bea. He raised his eyebrows at her expectantly. “Lascia, Bea.” She dropped it into his palm, wagging her tail. She was very proud of herself. 

Joe grimaced and set the mouse down away from the dog. Nile watched it fall down the root and land at the bottom, its little mouth frozen in perpetual terror. It was so strange and sad and grotesque. It was almost funny. In fact, the more she thought about it, the funnier it became. She started to giggle. Then she was full-on laughing. And then Nicky caught it from her. Soon enough the two of them were practically doubled over, Bea dancing around their feet in shared excitement. Joe was smiling at them warmly until his head whipped backwards at the sound of twigs snapping. 

“Basta!” Nile turned her head just in time to see an elderly man in a camouflage jacket standing across the shrubs from them, a shotgun aimed directly at their chests. 

Nicky shouted something back in Italian, and Joe gave a low warning to him, probably hoping that the man with the gun couldn’t hear it. Nicky, apparently, was not going to listen. He stepped forward with his hands up, looking the man right in the eye. Nile couldn’t understand what he was saying, but it seemed to only make the man angrier. 

Just as Joe was about to step forward, a breeze blew past them, ruffling the evergreen shrubs around their feet. Bea, oblivious to the standoff, lifted her head and sniffed. Then she bolted. 

Several things happened at once: Nile turned towards the dog, the man turned towards Nile, Nicky turned towards the man, and Joe turned towards Nicky. The man fired a warning shot at Nile’s feet. Nicky tried to intervene, but both of them fell over the roots and into the shrubs below. Nile heard the man fire another shot, his footsteps fading into the distance as he followed Bea’s howling. Joe came crashing into the bushes, leaning down and turning the two of them over. His hands scanned over them, moving lightly and coming to rest in Nicky’s hair. 

“Ugh. Che cazzo.” Nile gripped at her ankle, which she had landed on sideways in her fall over the tree roots. 

Joe’s head swiveled between the two of them. “Are either of you hurt?” 

“No, just even more covered in dirt than I was before. And I think I twisted my ankle, but it’s,” she hissed, “it’s healing.” She spread out on her back, looking up at the holm oak. “You’d think for how many times I’ve fallen on the ground I would’ve found a mushroom by now.” 

Nicky, seemingly unharmed but with Joe still hovering over him, looked over at her and raised an eyebrow. “There’s an oyster mushroom on the tree behind you.” Nile turned her head to see, and sure enough. The white caps were stacked like stairs moving up the tree’s bark. 

“And who taught you that kind of Italian, Nile?” 

Nile sat up shakily and nodded her head to Joe, winking. 

“Yusuf!” Nicky took one hand off the ground to wack at Joe’s arm. 

Joe raised his hands, laughing. 

Nicky turned back to Nile. “We have to find that dog. Even if what she smelled was nothing, that man will try to take her. He’s a truffle hunter. This is his turf, or so he claims. Regardless, that dog is worth thousands of euros and years of training. I think Daniele will truly kill us if we lose her.” 

Nile and Joe looked at each other. Joe extended his hand, and the three of them set off at a jog in the direction of Bea’s barking. 

* * *

Several steep hills later, they spotted the man through the trees and ducked behind another oak tree. Nile was trying very hard to control her breathing, but she hadn’t been this winded and covered in mud since basic. 

“Did he find the dog?” Nile felt like she was hyperventilating, in spite of her best efforts to be quiet. 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

Joe gestured to where Bea’s wagging tail could be seen moving through the trees several feet ( _meters,_ Nile corrected herself) away from them. She was sniffing madly, going in the opposite direction of the mystery man. Joe was right. He hadn’t seen her yet. 

“I will distract him. Follow the dog.” Nicky spoke in a low whisper, standing very still. 

Joe grabbed Nicky’s arm, concern spilling over onto his face. 

“Yusuf, I will be fine. I speak the best Italian. I proposed this whole misadventure. It is only fair.” 

Joe’s expression was tight. “We’re not armed!” 

“I could take him in a fight.” 

Joe rolled his eyes, but the worry didn’t leave his expression. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, Nicolò. Be safe.”

Nicky smiled and waved them off. “Yee of little faith. Go. I’ll catch up to you soon. Find the truffles.” He stepped around the tree, graceful as ever. 

Nile took the lead, crouching down and crawling across the shrubs, trying to keep Bea’s gray tail in her sight line. Apparently basic training never stopped with these two. 

Joe glanced backward as Nicky spoke to the man, their voices raised and carrying across the canopy. 

Nile gestured to where Bea had run down a small ravine, leaping over a runoff creek to paw insistently at a root system above a cluster of trees. 

“Why is she only using one paw?” 

Joe’s eyes were wide. “Because she’s signaling that she found a white truffle.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nile, Nicky & Joe look for truffles, cook some food & have Feelings About Botany.

A day or so before their truffle excursion, Andy had insisted on showing Nile her old copy of _Rust, smut, mildew & mould: An introduction to the study of microscopic Fungi _. 

“It’s a first edition, from 1865!” Andy was very proud of that fact. 

They flipped through the old illustrations. There were scraggly oysters, stately morels, and strange fungi Nile had never seen before. Some of them looked more like an animal than a plant, but they had a strange mystique to them. Like they were something entirely different from the rest of life on Earth. 

Nile put her finger on a pencil drawing of _Tuber magnatum_ , the Piedmont white truffle. It looked like a cross between a rotting potato and a testicle. 

“You know, Nile,” Nicky had told her teasingly over their mac & cheese, “the old Castilian word for truffle is _turmas de tierra._ ” 

Andy almost choked on her pasta. 

Joe groaned. “Nicolò, my love, I swear to God…” 

She sensed this was a moment to humor him. “What does that mean? Something of the Earth?” 

Nicky’s grin split his face in half. “It means ‘Earth’s testicles.’” 

Then it had been Nile’s turn to choke on her pasta. 

Now, as she considered the strange lump in front of her, she thought the Castilians may have had a point. It _did_ kind of look like a testicle. She tilted her head this way and that, trying to look at it from a different angle. It was also kind of sweet, in a homely way. Like a lumpy bug. 

“You know, most of the year truffles don’t even exist in this form.” Andy approached her side, holding the delicate page in between her fingers. “They’re usually just part of the mycelial network. But they can’t spread their spores underground, so for a month or so every year we get these beauties.” 

“How does that work? Truffles are mushrooms, right? They don’t have roots, like plants do.” 

Biology had never been Nile’s strong suit, but she remembered that part about taxonomy and kingdoms. Her high school biology teacher, Mrs. Whitaker, would have them recite strange acronyms to remember the order. _Keep Pond Clean Or Froggy Gets Sick. Kingdom Phylum Class Order Family Genus Species._ Clearly it had stuck, for whatever that was worth now. She briefly wondered if she and the others were their own species now, or if they still fit in under the banner of _Homo sapiens._

“Mushrooms are their own kingdom, yes. But the mushroom is just one part of the mycelium. They’re the part of the organism that we can see, but their networks run underground.” 

“Like roots?” 

“Yes, like roots. But they can be miles long. Sometimes longer. And they interact with the plants and animals that live underground. And each other. They can facilitate communication between different organisms through the mycelium. It’s like the internet.” 

“Who told you about that?” Nile jabbed an elbow at her playfully.

Andy gave her a _look_. “A little bird came to my window one day.” 

Nile picked up the book, flipping through a diagram of _Cordyceps militaris_ , their nubby orange bodies poking through the ground like shriveled carrots. They were a strong contender for ugliest fungi species. “What made you all so interested in these things, anyway?” 

“They’re just interesting. And Joe and Nicky have always loved biology, especially anything to do with mushrooms. I think they both studied it when they were young. They’re both so sensitive, and the natural world reflects that right back at them. It’s something they’ve always had in common.” 

“And what about you?” 

Andy’s _look_ gave way to a wistful smile. “I guess it reminds me of home.” 

* * *

Nile and Joe slowly clambered down the ditch as Nicky and the Mean Old Truffle Guy (as Nile had taken to calling him) argued on the other side of the tree. Joe slowly crossed the creek, Nile following behind. But, as soon as they neared it, Bea started frantically barking and wagging her tail. 

“Bea, no!” Joe’s voice was as forceful as he could make it, but it was too late. Mean Old Truffle Guy started yelling, and then Nicky started yelling, and then their footsteps got closer and closer. 

Nile and Joe moved in unison. Nile grabbed Bea by her collar and Joe lunged toward the spot she had been furiously digging at. Then they heard a gunshot. Truffle Guy came careening around the tree a moment later, his shotgun raised at them once again. They paused. They regarded one another. 

“Parli Italiano?” The man was shouting at them, continually gripping and readjusting his gun. 

Joe tensed next to her. “Dove Nicolò?”

Nile couldn’t hear the man's answer over the buzzing in her ears. She knew by the look on his face that he shot to kill, or at least to maim. She knew that look. Nobody who had shot a gun casually had that look. No hunter had that look. That was the look of a man who had done something he now didn’t know what to make sense of. That he didn’t think he was capable of. And in spite of herself and what she knew, Nile still worried. Every time, she worried. Was Nicky killed? Or was he just hit? Would he heal? Was this it? 

She heard Joe snarl something at the man, and she knew she had seconds to act. If the man shot at them directly, not only would he take the dog and the truffle, but he would also more than likely see them heal. And then they would have a much bigger problem on their hands. 

She put a hand out to Joe’s chest. He looked at her, confused. His heart was beating frantically. _Where was Nicky?_

Then, she saw the slightest movement out of the corner of her eye. Nile looked at Joe. Joe looked at Nile. She raised her right eyebrow, hoping it was signal enough. 

She snapped her fingers at Bea, who was straining against Nile’s hold on her collar. She spoke as quietly as she could, both sets of eyes trained on her. “Bea, prendilo!” 

She threw the training treat Daniele had given them right at Mean Old Truffle Guy’s feet, and then she let go of Bea’s collar. She and Joe dropped to the ground, right next to the alleged truffle. Bea barreled across the creek and right into Truffle Guy’s knees, knocking him off balance just in time for Nicky to appear from the other side of the tree, butting him in the head with his own gun. He slumped against the edge of the ravine, unconscious. 

“Nicky, are you okay?” Nile left the root system and climbed back up the ledge, Joe hot on her heels. 

“I’m fine.” Nicky was breathing hard, one hand holding his shoulder, which was covered in blood. “He did not shoot to kill, but he was definitely… angry.” He rolled his head back and forth, wincing. 

Joe finally got up the hill and ran up to him, placing his hand over Nicky’s on his formerly-injured shoulder. “That was very stupid of you, Nicolò.” 

“I know, Yusuf. But I do not want to be responsible for losing Daniele’s beloved dog to some ridiculous man trying to defend his territory.” 

“And what about you? We don’t want to be responsible for losing you over some ridiculous truffle, either.” 

“I know, I know. I will be more careful.” They touched foreheads, and Nicky kissed Joe on the cheek. 

“I still could have taken him in a fight. He just had a gun, so it was a little unbalanced in his favor. I was at a disadvantage.” 

“I know, habibi. You did good.” Joe kissed him, smiling fondly. 

Bea wove around them and Nile gave her a pat on the head. “And what about Bea? She did most of the work!” 

Joe smiled at her, eyes just a little bit wet. “Brava, Bea!” He reached down and scratched her head with his free hand. 

Nicky looked over at Nile. “And how did you know that that man was not going to shoot the dog?” 

She shrugged. “Have you ever seen Batman?” 

Joe laughed. “Yes, but what on Earth does that have to do with it?” 

“In the comics, Batman always makes plans based on what he knows about his enemies, and what he thinks they’re going to do. I thought that the man wouldn’t shoot the dog because she’s too valuable to him as a trained truffle dog. And I figured that the movement I saw in the bushes was Nicky. So I needed a distraction that he wouldn’t shoot at. And I knew he wouldn’t shoot at the dog.”

Nicky gave her a proud smile. “You are going to give us a run for our money, Nile.” 

Nile smiled at them and turned back towards the root system across the creek, dropping to her knees and digging at the spot Bea had pointed out earlier. 

A few minutes later Joe and Nicky joined her, holding hands. 

Nile used the small shovel Daniele had given them to dig at the spot. She pulled at the old roots, clutching chunks of soil and pulling it away with her fingers. She felt them pull away, revealing a small, lumpy thing covered in dirt. Surprisingly, she found herself thinking about her father. 

Nile’s father had loved to garden. When he was in between deployments he would take her and her brother to the community gardens in Chicago. He encouraged them to dig their hands into the soil and feel the dirt. They would move around the other volunteers, pulling up weeds, slowly carving out a space for the little seeds they bought at the grocery store. They planted beans and peas, carrots, cucumbers, basil, thyme, and mint. But that was hardly anything in the big garden. There were flowers and fruit in equal measure. By August, it would be overflowing with life. Nile thought it looked like a little city, bees and flies and butterflies moving from plant to plant like the commuters she saw downtown. 

“Be careful with the plants, Nile. When you’re weeding you’ve gotta be gentle so you don’t break the roots.” 

“Dad, how do you know what the roots feel like?” 

“You’ll know ‘em when you feel ‘em. They’re like little threads running through the soil. They bind everything together. Your grandma always used to say that you have to dig up a few roots before you know what they feel like.” 

Her brother grabbed a fistful of dirt and yanked it out of the ground. He held it above his head like a trophy. “Roots!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. 

“Truffle!” Nile shouted at the top of her lungs. She pulled, and the roots gave way. And then it was in the palm of her hand. _Turmas de tierra_ , her brain supplied unhelpfully. The smell was overwhelming. It was deep and nutty, like the Earth after a rainstorm or a soup cooking in winter. It was like a lure. Nile, Joe and Nicky stood there, transfixed. The little truffle was so small and unassuming, but its presence was overwhelming. 

“Nile, you did it!” Nicky pulled her in for a hug, which she gratefully returned. 

“Thank you, Nicky.” She suddenly felt very melancholy. She pressed her hand against the bullet hole left in his jacket and squeezed his shoulder. 

Nile handed the truffle over to Joe, who cupped it in both hands while Nicky cooed over it like a child. Even though they needed to go before the old man woke up, the two of them gave her space, sensing the shift in her mood. The longer she was with the three of them, the more she understood how much was said without speaking at all. 

Nile pressed her hand and then her forehead to the big tree whose root system they were under. She ran her hand along the bark, feeling its hills and valleys. She thought about _The Giving Tree._ “Thanks, dad,” she whispered. She hoped it heard her, somewhere she couldn’t see. 

* * *

An hour later the three of them returned to the parking lot. They brought a very happy dog, a small, fragrant white truffle, and a newly-acquired shotgun. Nile held the truffle in her hands the whole way back, stepping over shrubs and logs and creeks. And she only fell over once. 

When they got to the van, Nile bent down and held Bea’s face in her hands. She was panting and covered in mud, but her tail hadn’t stopped wagging since they found the truffle.“I'll miss you, good girl! Go take a nap.” She licked Nile on the nose in response. 

Daniele was waiting for them next to his truck, his expression unreadable. “And how much trouble did you get in, exactly?” 

“Just enough.” Nicky handed him Bea’s leash and extended his hand to reveal the shotgun at his side. He was covered in blood and dirt, and there was a conspicuous hole in the shoulder of his jacket. “Daniele, do you find yourself in need of a new gun?” 

Daniele looked to Joe and Nile, who raised their hands. He smiled and took the gun from Nicky. “Perhaps you should stay out of the woods for a little while, even if they do bear fruit this year.” 

“Perhaps. Grazie mille, Daniele.” 

“Prego.” He regarded the three of them, covered in mud and blood and leaves but seemingly elated. Bea jumped into the cab of his truck. And like that he was gone. 

Nile and Nicky and Joe looked at one another. They looked at the woods and the beat up van and the leaves falling off of their clothes like breadcrumbs. Joe turned to Nile. “Was that better than truffle mac & cheese?” And then he broke out in laughter. 

“Truffle mac & cheese never made me run hills, or wade through mud, or dig through the dirt for six hours to find a tiny testicle-shaped fungus. And it certainly never shot at me.” Nile was barely trying to be serious, but even as she spoke her laughter from before bubbled up and spilled over. 

Nicky was not immune, either. “Do you think that mouse was a bad omen? Like a warning?” Nicky tried to compose himself as he spoke but then immediately doubled back over, clutching the side of the van for balance. 

“I think it was a bad omen for the old guy!” 

“Nicky, were you really going to take that old man in a fight? Really?” Joe was putting the small shovels in the back of the van. He was slightly more composed now, but just barely. 

“Yes! Him and his stupid gun!” 

Nile bumped shoulders with Nicky. “You did great, buddy.” 

“Thank you, Nile.” He tried to look dignified, pulling himself up to his full height. He glanced at Joe. “At least _someone_ appreciates me.” 

Joe rolled his eyes at them and swung into the passenger seat of the van, putting a twig on the windshield like a souvenir. 

Andy greeted them back at the safehouse with warm tea, towels and a new jacket for Nicky. 

Nile had almost fallen asleep on the drive back, but she was shocked out of her fatigue by Andy’s nonchalance. 

“Does this always happen?!” 

“Not every time. Although Booker actually died when they took him for the first time.” 

“He was being stupid.” Nicky bounded down the stairs, freshly bloodless after his shower. 

“Isn’t he always?” Joe was right behind him. 

“Yusuf.” 

“Fine, fine.” 

“So, what do you want to make with your truffle, Nile?” Andy was preparing more tea at the kitchen stove. 

“It cannot be mac & cheese.” Joe flipped onto his favorite chair with a sigh. 

“Why not? Isn’t it good with pasta?” 

“Yes, it’s good with _pasta_. Mac and cheese barely qualifies as such.” 

“What about tagliolini? That is the traditional way.” Nicky sat on the arm of Joe’s chair, throwing his hand behind him. Joe caught it and put it to his chest without a second thought. 

“What’s tagliolini?” 

“It’s an Italian pasta. It looks like spaghetti, but much better. Traditionally, the truffle is shaved over it with a butter sauce. And it has to be made by hand.” 

“I can’t make pasta by hand!”

“Lucky for you, I am a great teacher. I’ve had 900 years of practice. And I’m from Genoa.” 

“Which is basically the same thing,” Joe added. 

* * *

The next day, Nile decided to make pasta. She was clearly going to have to learn one way or another. She might as well start now.

She regretted it instantly. 

Nicky was almost as formidable as her first CO, at least in the kitchen. 

_Nile, go get the butter from the refrigerator. Salt the water. More salt! Now get the cheese. Grate the cheese. Get the eggs. Watch behind you when you’re cooking! Stir the butter! Stir the water! Nile, get this. Clean this. Cut this._ She almost felt dizzy from all of the running around, so it was a relief to finally stand still and make the pasta. 

They had assembled the flour into a small mountain on the cutting board, topped with no less than 15 eggs. Nile thought it looked like a small volcano, or a science fair project. Or both. She started shaping the flour like she was kneading bread, drawing it up and towards the eggs. Nicky slapped her hand away in frustration. 

“No, no, Nile, you have to shape it more gently than that. Go slower. You don’t want to break the bonds between the egg and the flour. It _must_ be gentle. It’s not like bread.” 

“Okay, okay, Nicky. I got it. Message received.” 

Eventually Nicky gave up and stepped into her space, spinning the eggs and flour in delicate circles until a dough started to form. 

Joe and Andy entertained themselves by keeping up a running commentary on the proceedings from the safety of the living room. 

“And the pasta has now advanced to its larval stage!” Joe was narrating each step like a cross between David Attenborough and a European football announcer. 

“Will it make it to adulthood? Only time will tell,” Andy added as she emerged from the cellar with four bottles of wine. They looked older than Nile herself. “Barbera d’Asti, baby! From 1988.” She grinned as she held the bottles aloft, two in each hand. Nile was briefly reminded of _The Lion King._

Two egg-and-flour-filled hours later, they had what allegedly looked like pasta. They also had a huge chunk of butter melting in a saucepan, more Parmesan cheese than Nile had ever seen in her life, and the notorious white truffle sitting on the counter.

“How’s it coming along guys?” Joe and Andy had slowly gotten closer and closer as the smells got more intense, until finally they stood hovering around Nile and Nicky. Nicky had to keep batting Joe’s hand out of the way when he tried to reach for a taste of something. 

Nile was enjoying it, in spite of Nicky’s tyranny. Cooking was something she never wanted to start but always enjoyed finishing. It reminded her of her parents, like most things these days. Stirring the butter, she wondered idly what her family was up to. Did they have a memorial service for her? Did they make her favorite food? Did they order pizza? Did her uncle make his ribs? She wondered if her friends brought her favorite drinks to one of their apartments. Did they toast in her honor? Did they think of her, still? 

In spite of the constant reminders, she didn’t think about her old life very often. Or at least, she tried not to. She tried, really hard, not to think about it. It gave her this sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, like she would fall right through the Earth and come out on the other side if she lingered too long. But there was something about the food, about the day and scenery and the mushrooms and Nicky and Joe and the old man and the dog, that made the grief harder to deny. It was already dark but the kitchen was filled with light and life. The boiling water wafted plumes of smoke to the ceiling. Andy sat at the kitchen island and poured the old wine, looking fondly at the three of them. Nicky and Joe complained as they danced around each other, more familiar with one another than anyone else had ever been, probably. She looked around the busy kitchen and wished, fiercely, that she could share this with the people who loved her. 

She wouldn’t say it out loud, but she understood, in some small way, why Booker did what he did. Why he was so far past reason. She feared she might go that far someday, too, if she wasn’t careful. 

Nicky, sensing her quiet, spun around her and poured the noodles into the sauce. “Look how beautiful your pasta turned out, Nile! You wouldn’t even know it was your first time making it.” 

“You did most of the work, anyway,” she mumbled. She found she wasn’t willing to let go of her sullenness so easily. 

A flash of hurt crossed Nicky’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “You did more than you think. And anyway, it's time for the main event. Let us put these on a plate.” 

Feeling a little guilty, Nile put out the plates and waited. 

Nicky presented the truffle to her like it was an award. “Your truffle, ma’am.” His eagerness to cheer her up was almost heartbreaking; it was so sincere. She tried to rally and took the truffle, giving a little bow as she did. She slowly grated the strange truffle over the pasta, watching it fall on top of the plates in little layers, each one a perfect replica of the last. 

Joe taught her how to hold three plates on her arm, laughing as she struggled to balance. “You’ll get the hang of it, you’ve got lots of time to practice. And besides, I’m not nearly as mean as Nicky over there.” 

Andy had glasses of wine ready for them, and in the warmth of the kitchen they toasted. “To life. And to truffles.” 

“And to Bea,” Nile added. 

“And to Bea!” They replied in unison. 

Joe was right. The pasta was heavenly. It was worth the experience, no matter how many times she got shot at. No matter how many more of them she had. 

Later, as Nile lay on her back in front of the fire, wine drunk and satiated, Andy sat down next to her. She gave Nile an indecipherable look. 

“So,” she started, “what’s bothering you, kid?” 

“Nothing.” She was a terrible liar sober, but when drunk she was absolutely hopeless. 

“That does not sound like nothing,” Nicky said from somewhere behind her. She couldn’t see them, but she knew Nicky and Joe were sprawled out on the couch near the kitchen. 

Nile sat up, very much regretting it when her head spun for a second. “I guess, it’s just that I… when I was out in that forest, it was so beautiful, and everything was so pretty, but I kept thinking about my family, and everything like that.” She winced a little. She wasn't feeling very articulate. 

“It’s natural to think of those you've loved, when you're in the natural world.” Andy was looking at her with more expressiveness than Nile had maybe ever seen before. 

“It was beautiful, and even kind of scary, but sometimes it felt like all I could think about was just… us, and who we are, and what I’ve left behind.” Her voice cracked a little. “I miss my family sometimes. And my friends,” she paused, suddenly very unsure of herself, “sometimes.” 

“It’s natural to miss people, Nile.” Nile turned to see Joe looking at her, his face lit up by the firelight. 

“We still miss people who have been dead for a long, long time,” Nicky added. 

“And some who haven’t.” Andy had turned to face her so the four of them were sitting in a semicircle, facing each other. 

“I know that, but I still feel like I’m missing out on things I should be enjoying. Or that I’m not giving enough attention to what’s, like, in front of me. And sometimes it feels like everything reminds me of them, and even when I’m having fun or I’m learning something new,” now her voice cracked for real, tears spilling down her face, “all I want is for them to be with me.” 

Joe, as always, was the first one to read between the lines. “Nile, listen to me, you’re not betraying us just by thinking of the people who loved you. Just because… because Booker made some bad decisions because of his pain, it doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to grieve. Or that we won’t trust you if you do.” Joe’s face was placid, but his eyes had the same look as they did the night that Nile dreamed about Quynh for the first time. “Nature is a beautiful thing, Nile, and it can teach you a lot about grief, if you let it. The beautiful thing about it is that it's always in process. The process of creation is what nature is. It’s like that, for you. For all of us. Like that truffle, it’s never over. There's always something more to it. You’re always connecting one thing to something else. Your mother and your brother, your family, your friends. They will always be connected to you, and you to them. And through you they are connected to us. And so on.” 

Nicky looked at Joe adoringly. “Even when we lose someone, by death or betrayal or the passage of time, they live on through those connections. That is what creates life. It is about the act of becoming, which never stops.” 

Andy added, “you are part of that connection, Nile. A very important part.” 

The fire surged into the flue. The whole house smelled of woody truffles and wine. Everything was still warm, either from the fire or the cooking, and Nile’s gratitude and grief overflowed in equal parts. The giving tree gave on. She wished, again, fiercely, that she could share this with the people who loved her. 

No. She wished, again, fiercely, that she could share this with the _other_ people who loved her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, I tricked you all into learning about mycology ;) I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it! 
> 
> Nile is a comic book nerd Change My Mind. Also, the strategy she describes is a really common trope! It's sometimes called the Batman Gambit. 
> 
> Translations:  
> Parli Italiano --> 'do you speak Italian?'  
> Dove --> 'where is [Nicky]?'  
> Grazie mille/prego --> 'thanks a lot' (but it's much more commonly used than the equivalent phrase in English) and 'you're welcome'

**Author's Note:**

> Me being nostalgic for Emilia-Romagna? It’s more likely than you think! 
> 
> Shamelessly inspired by the book Entangled by Merlin Sheldrake. If you like mycology I’d highly recommend it! The descriptions of truffle hunting are based on that book & my own experiences looking for morels in the American Midwest. 
> 
> The podcast dialogue is taken from Lovett Or Leave It, home of controversial mac & cheese opinions. 
> 
> I was basing my Italian primarily on the Piedmontese I heard while in Turin, but it’s been a long time so if you see any mistakes don’t hesitate to point them out!  
> Translations: (in order of appearance)  
> È una vita da cani —> sort of a metaphor, like ‘it’s a hard life’  
> Molto male —> ‘very bad’  
> The commands are pretty easy to understand in context, it’s basta (stop), vieni qui (come here), andiamo (let’s go), and lascia (drop it).  
> Che cazzo (my favorite phrase of all time) —> what the fuck? (Or equivalent. It’s hard to translate the beauty of che cazzo). 
> 
> I promise I’m still working on my other fic, I just had to get this silly story out of my system! This one is finished, I’m just going to do some edits tomorrow before I post the ending. Stay tuned!


End file.
